


The Coming Of ... Supermanta!

by Dannell Lites Archivist (offpanel_archivist)



Category: Superman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-27
Updated: 2000-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offpanel_archivist/pseuds/Dannell%20Lites%20Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Amalgamated tale of Superman ... as he might have been!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!  
> Ah'm not sure exactly who the character belongs to, save that he isn't mine:):) He was conceived by the staff of Wizard Magazine in July, 1997 for an article entitled "Amalgamania: The Top Ten Amalgams 'Wizard' Wants To See!" He caught moi's eye immediately, and Ah kept this story possibility in the back of moi's mind ever since! Hope ya'll like him, too:):)
> 
> This is a fanfic for entertainment purposes only! No copyright infringement is intended for DC Comics, Marvel Comics, OR Wizard Magazine, so don't sue moi:):)
> 
> Rated PG-13 for a bit of violence and bad temper on Supermanta's part and maybe a naughty word or two in Japanese:):) Hee!
> 
> It should be obvious, but Supermanta is an amalgam of DC's Superman and Marvel's Namor, the Submariner! Special thanks to the Wizard staff who conceived him, and to Rachel Erhlich for tinkering with the outstanding illo of Supermanta! Thanks, Rachel, Sugah:):)
> 
> And now, on with the story!
> 
> ___
> 
> This story is archived on behalf of Dannell Lites, who passed away in 2002, with the permission of her family. Posting date approximate.

Captain Hiro Fugimoto made a wry, disgusted face and breathed out heavily through his nose in irritation. "Not you *too*, Kenjiro-Sama!" he exclaimed in a barking voice, perhaps a bit harsher than he'd intended at first. First Mate Kenjiro Yamahara was a fine sailor and a worthy son of Nippon. No need to be so thoughtless, Fugimoto chastised himself.

Kenjiro assumed an attitude of proper respect for his Captain, and bowed quickly; perhaps a bit lower than was absolutely necessary under the circumstances, Hiro decided, embarrassed.

"With respect, Captain-San," Kenjiro pointed out in an apologetic voice, "I only remind the honorable Captain of the nervous state of the crew. Three whaling vessels have disappeared in this area within the last month. They say a demon haunts these frigid waters. A most powerful water spirit."

With an effort, the Captain forced himself to smile. "Nonsense, Kenjiro!" he chuckled heartily. "Superstitious claptrap! Surely you do not believe it any more than I!"

Kenjiro looked away, unwilling to face his Captain just then. He studied his feet, clad snugly in weather proof boots. "Hiro, my old friend," he addressed the other man, "I do not know what to believe. We were sent to investigate this 'demon', were we not? The last transmission from the Hokkaido-Maru speaks of a "a great wind' and a 'terrible force rising from the depths of the sea'...and all the witnesses agree. Whatever this thing is, demon, man, or...something else...it is mighty, possessing abilities far beyond those of mortal men. Beyond even the power of we poor mortals to describe." Reflexively, as if to protect himself from a sudden bitter cold invading the warmth of the bridge he stood upon, he pulled the hood of his heated all weather parka closer about his flushed face.

"That's why I'm here," declared Dr. Reicho Namasara, late of the Osaka Institute for Advanced Oceanographic Studies. "To see this thing for myself, and perhaps help you deal with it. Did you know that your men have given this 'demon' a name? They've begun to call it 'Supermanta'." The diminutive scientist smiled, bowing in greeting to his two hosts.

Captain Fugimoto sniffed hot derision. "Your pardon, learned sir, but I have been sailing these waters for more than twenty-five years! I have no need of a nursemaid!"

The scientist understood the sailor's ire, but still could not help being put off by his verbal jab. "Truly, Fugimoto-San," he returned dryly, "you are lucky the Son of Heaven did not call upon Sunfire and the Big Hero Six to assist you! Or perhaps the Imperial Bodyguard, Rising Sun, himself. Nippon is surprisingly dependent upon the bounty of the sea for her continued survival. Anything that adversely affects the Japanese fishing or whaling fleet is a serious matter." Fugimoto's sharp gesture of dismissal was almost rude in its abruptness.

Sighing, Dr. Namasara shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the harsh cry of the lookout on deck.

"Whale!" the cry went up. "Whale off the port bow!"

Abandoning Doctor Namasara, the two sailors clambered out onto the deck. The biting subzero Antarctic winds of the Weddell Sea lashed them unmercifully as they both raised powerful binoculars to their eyes, aimed off the port bow.

"A humpback!" the Captain rejoiced, at the sight that filled his eyes. "Scarce these days! And a *big* one, at that. Seventy tons at least!"

The first mate nodded happily. Turning, Kenjiro barked orders at the scurrying crew. "Hard a port!" he shouted over the howling wind. "Man the harpoon guns!"

Like the well-oiled cogs of a smoothly operating machine, the crew of the Shinobi-Maru leapt into action, lulled by the succor of long practice. The Captain watched with considerable pride as his gunners tracked the huge, fleeing marine mammal sliding swiftly through the ocean's dark waters. A great spray arose in the creature's wake, water forced from the whale's body out through the anterior blowhole.

"Thar she blows!" cried a mirthful Kenjiro, in a terrible impression of a New England American accent he'd picked up during his student days at the University of Massachusetts. Beneath his breath, the Captain gnashed his teeth, cursing in foul Japanese.

"Watch out!" he warned. "She's going to sound! Quick! Before she dives! Fire! Fire!"

Obediently, his gunners took careful aim, then released the pneumatically powered tungsten steel harpoons at their fleeing target. The Captain gripped his binoculars tightly enough that his knuckles turned white with the effort. Yes! Already he could tell that the deadly projectiles were right on target. A solid hit, it would be, lodging deep within the whale's blubber-coated body. He waved at the forward harpooner in triumph.

"Captain, look!" Kenjiro cried suddenly, the fear in his voice rising, pointing out to sea with a trembling finger.

The surface of the sea boiled like a heated cauldron, roiling and frothing in great agitation like cooking soup stirred by a giant hand. With a mighty rush of sound, a huge waterspout blasted high into the air, sucked into this alien element by the sheer force and speed of the being at its apex. All eyes turned to the skies, just in time to see the harpoons shatter themselves into small pieces against...something...then fall harmlessly into the sea.

"Look! Up in the sky!" shouted one crewman, pointing at a hovering figure.

"It's a *bird*!" scoffed another, shading his eyes against the sun's refection off the silvery waters.

"It's a plane!" corrected yet another nearby crewman, who could see clearly that the figure was larger than a bird.

"It's...Supermanta!" howled a fourth, in great fear. "Aieeee! Amaterasu, save us!"

With a merry salute of her flukes in thanks and gratitude, the great cetacean, one of the last humpback whales in these waters, swam serenely away, unmolested, both she and her unborn calf safe.

For the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

Krypton was doomed.

For months now, Jor-El had known it. All his investigations lead to the same conclusion. There was fiery death building in the heart of Krypton and her Great Mother Ocean. But the dotting old men of the Science Council had forbidden him to act publicly. An alarmist, they called him. Fools! May Rao curse the waters of their lives. Their foolish intransigence had doomed all of Krypton and her people.

He smiled.

Well, perhaps not  _ **all**_  of them...

Not if Jor-El had his way.

And he intended to.

There was still yet hope for the child. But time was rapidly running out. As he'd worked frantically on the small model rocketship in these last few hours, he found himself interrupted several times by sea tremors that shook the spires of Kryptonopolis like a hapless toy in the hands of an irate child. His gills straining hard to keep up with his exertions, the scientist recalibrated the tiny ship's warp drive vectors one last time, shaking his head. Not perfect, but it would have to do. There was simply no more time. The floor of his private laboratory began to shake, almost gently at first, then with increasing severity. Tumbling through the water, Jor-El caught himself by reaching out and grasping at a passing sonic generator with one webbed hand. Clinging to the heavy piece of lab equipment, he found himself staring out the sweeping plas-steel window of his lab out into the vista of his doomed city.

Buildings rumbled and shook, falling to the ocean floor; the shock waves of the great quake rippled through the waters of Kryptonopolis like a swelling tide. Crying in terror and distress, aquatic Kryptonians fled the destruction like glittering, startled flamefish who saw their deaths reflected in the crystalline forehead of a hungry thought-ichthyus. As if this were the wilds of the Scarlet Sea, and not the cradle of Kryptonian civilization itself.

It was all futile, Jor-El knew.

<lara! child!="" the="" bring="" quickly!="">he ordered his wife, and swam to meet her as she entered his domain, his lab. He had never forbidden her presence there, but, prudently, she rarely invaded this sheltered part of his life. His research was vital to him, she realized. And she had no wish to intrude.

<jor?>

With a frown, Jor-El looked up from strapping his infant son into the vehicle's tiny, cramped interior, being careful not wake the sleeping child. Briefly, his wife leaned down and kissed the drowsy child's forehead. The baby cooed and gurgled in his slumber, and Jor-El's heart fell as he watched Lara carefully arrange the dark blankets around the baby's chin. Jor-El took his wife's hand in his, and held it tightly as he sealed the ship's environmental systems and began the power up preparatory to launch.

Lara whispered. Understanding her desire, Jor-El activated a hologram of Earth to allow her to see their son's future home. Like a great lovely blue and green marble, it hung in the air of the lab, peeking out from beneath its fleecy cloud cover like a shy young girl with her first lover. Lara gasped at the beauty before her.

<sea's the="" world.="" hospitable="" gentle,="" a="" is="" earth="" fear.="" never="" chooses,="" he="" where="" swim="" to="" room="" of="" plenty="" have="" will="" ?star-child?="" little="" our="" so="" wife.="" my="" surface,="" planetary="" seven-tenths="" cover="">

<oh, them...strange...alien...="" from="" be...different="" he-he?ll="" jor!="">

<he'll the="" to="" that.="" me="" trust="" must="" you="" there,="" safe="" be="" he?ll="" physiology.="" kryptonian="" his="" and="" gravity="" lesser="" much="" earth?s="" thanks="" invulnerable,="" virtually="" faster,="" stronger,="" natives.="" than="" stronger="" lara.="" *alive*,="">

And then there was no time left at all. The lab shook itself like a drenched animal throwing water from its coat, and Jor-El keyed the launch sequence with a frantic hand. The roar of rocket engines filled the air, louder even than the sounds of destruction all around them. Jor-El shielded his wife from the treacherous falling glass as the small rocket tore through the ceiling of their crumbling home, out into the atmosphere of their dying world. Great fissures ripped open the ground beneath their dwelling as, together, hand in hand, they watched the rocket, bearing its small, precious cargo, claw its way through the atmosphere to the safety of space. For the final time, Jor-El embraced his wife, clinging to her tightly, secure in the knowledge that all was not lost.

he whispered.

* * * * *

Doctor Namasara spilled out onto the wet, slippery deck like a ripe seed. Windmilling his arms frantically, the slight scientist fought for balance against the heaving ship, falling hard to the deck with an audible "whoosh" of escaping air from his comically open mouth. The Captain might have smiled if he hadn't been so busy.

And afraid.

"Hard astern!" he shrieked, once more striving to make himself heard over the howling wind.

"Remember the 'great wind'!" cried Doctor Narasama, climbing to his feet again, only to fall once more as the ship lurched away from beneath his scrambling feet. "Quickly! Grab hold of something!" Almost against his will, the Captain obeyed, grabbing for purchase at a convenient rail, lest he be swept overboard by the strengthening wind that blew hard in his face. Kenjiro-Sama was no fool. He did the same. For several unfortunate crewmen, the warning came too late, however. With despair, Hiro Fugimoto watched as two of his crew were swept from the heaving deck like dust before a housekeeper's broom.

"Man overboard!" the cry went up. "Man overboard!"

Brave Kenjiro released his hold on safety, and joined his Captain as the older man threw life preservers over the side of the vessel in the faint hope that the two lost men might be able to make their way to them. In these seas, their chances were not good. In the bitter cold of the Antarctic waters of the Weddell Sea, his two crewmen would not last long before hypothermia claimed them.

The wind abated for a moment, and Hiro breathed a sigh of relief. "Wha - ?"

And then, as if by magic, his two crewmen fell from the sky onto the pitching deck of the Shinobi-Maru, coughing up sea water drenched and shivering. Ancestor's be praised! In all his twenty-five years as a sailor, the last ten of them as Captain of his own vessel, Fugimoto had never lost a single crewman. He was loath to start such a detestable practice now. On a research mission of all things.

"Get those men below and into some dry clothes before they freeze!" he instructed, and several of their crewmates fell to, assisting the beleaguered pair below decks.

And then the wind picked up again.

 With a vengeance.

 "Kamikaze!" whispered Kenjiro at Fugimoto's side. "'The Divine Wind'! We are undone, Hiro-Sama, my friend!"

With an effort, Fugimoto restrained himself from striking his friend and subordinate. "Nonsense!" he cursed. "This is *not* 1281, Kenjiro! And that is  _ **surely**_  not Khublai-Khan's invading fleet! Besides," the Captain tried to be reasonable even under these most  _ **un**_ reasonable of circumstances, "the Kamikaze -- the 'Divine Wind' -- that forced the Great Khan to abandon his plans for the invasion and subjugation of Nippon was a sign of Nippon's favor from the gods. Whatever this is, I would hardly call it  _ **that**_!"

 Much chastened, Kenjiro dipped his head in a smart bow of respect for the Captain's greater knowledge. "Hai!" he agreed.

 Suddenly, with a great lurch that sent the crew tumbling from their feet yet again, and filled the air with the ear piercing screech of rending metal, the Shinobi-Maru rose into the air. Covering his ears against the cacophony of noise that assaulted him, Captain Hiro Fugimoto could only offer up his most humblest prayers for mercy from their unseen foe, even as he buried his face in the welcome warmth of his parka against the cutting wind. Clinging tightly to the deck, the Captain tried to ignore the sensation of great speed that engulfed his ship and crew. His queasy stomach rolled and pitched with the flight of the vessel through the air. Impossible! For a moment, he feared he might disgrace himself by being sick. Not since he was a boy, a gopher aboard his first vessel at the age of fifteen, had he been seasick. He felt somewhat better when he noticed Kenjiro-Sama and realized that if he were to be ill, he would scarcely be alone.

And then, gently as a floating piece of thistledown, the Shinobi-Maru splashed back down into her native element, calmly riding the gentle swells of a sheltered bay. The breeze that touched his cheek when he made brave to lift his head and look about in inquiry was almost warm.

"Look!" cried Kenjiro in awe, pointing at a familiar skyline. Even at this distance, and in the falling gloom of evening, the neon lights of the Ginza burned splendidly garish and bright. The Captain's eyes widened in disbelief. No! Impossible! A trip of thousands of miles, accomplished in the twinkling of an eye!

"Tokyo," the mariner breathed, sweeping back the hood of his parka to better orient himself. "My friends, this is Tokyo Bay! We -- we are home!"


	3. Chapter 3

  
"Princess? Princess Fen?"

The lady Lori called to the despondent figure kneeling by the solitary grave. "Please, My Lady," pleaded the chestnut haired merwoman, one of several of Fen's Ladies in Waiting, "you must come away from this mournful place. Please? Your father, Emperor Tha-Korr, summons you. He is most concerned by your protracted grief for this - this  _ **surfaceman**_. He deems it very unseemly for a Princess of fair Atlantis."

The Atlantean Princess' full lips thinned themselves into an angry blue line. "Tell the Emperor, my father, that I will mourn the death of my *husband* for as long and in whatever way or manner I find most appropriate!" Shaking her dark head, Fen gestured dismissal to the Lady Lori, and did not even look up to see if she'd been obeyed. She lowered her head in the familiar posture of listless sadness that she had assumed for so very long now. Ever since her return from the surface, in fact. For a moment, Lori had been almost glad to see the return of her friend's fighting spirit. But it was gone, now.

So quickly vanished...

Swimming closer, Lori touched Fen lightly on the elbow. "Oh, Fen, please," she pleaded. "You mustn't make him angrier! He's the Emperor! I -- I know how you must feel..."

Fen looked up, and not for the first time realized that when one lived beneath the sea waves, it was almost impossible to tell if someone were crying. But the tears were in Lori's voice if, perhaps, not in her eyes. "My-my own husband, my beloved Ronal, has but lately journeyed over the Grey Waters," Lori stammered. "Poseidon's Beard...I -- I miss him so, Fen!"

The two women embraced, keeping the pain of their mutual loss at bay with the presence, the warmth, of their bodies. "Oh, Lori, can you ever forgive me?" Fen whispered in a delicately pointed ear, stroking Lori's hair. "I've been so caught up in my own sorrow, my own tragedy, that I hadn't even considered yours. It must be very difficult for you. Yes, I miss Leonard, too. The sight of his smile...the sound of his voice...the way his chin jutted just  _ **so**_  when he was happy..."

Lori rearranged her elaborate, now disheveled headdress to the proper angle once more and nodded. "And your father misses  _ **you**_ ," she said softly, trying to smile. "He misses his bold adventurous daughter, his brave Fen. He'd never say so, of course, but I can tell. And he feels so guilty! He longs to see you smile once more, and to know that you forgive him."

Fen shook her head in apparent confusion. "Guilty? I don't -- "

"Of course he feels guilty, Fen! Was it not he that sent you to the surface in the first place to find the source of the destruction that rained down upon the realm of Atlantis? And it was there on the surface, was it not, that you found the icebreaker Oracle, making its way through the polar ice with explosive charges? And was that not where you met Leonard McKensie, captain of the Oracle?"

"Y-yes..." Unconsciously, Fen toyed with the plain gold band still adorning the ring finger of her left hand, absently twisting it about her finger in agitation. "And married him, after the customs of his people."

Lori nodded. "And when you did not return speedily, it was your father who sent a military patrol to fetch you back. He was terrified that you might have been captured or killed by the surfacemen. He raged for a day and a night until they returned with you safely. He did not know that the only thing Leonard McKensie had captured was your heart. Your husband's death was an accident, Princess. Young Jerro did not mean to kill him. When he found you in McKensie's bed, he thought...he thought you'd been raped, and it enraged him. To so despoil a Princess of the Blood Royal! And the rash youth mistook your husband's defense of you for an attack."

 

Fen buried her head in her hands at the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm her. Perhaps she meant to speak. Lori was never to know. For, if so, the Princesses' words were lost in the great roar of sound that sprang up suddenly from above, over their heads.

Alarmed, Lori Lemaris' eyes widened at the sight of the hurtling...meteor? "Fen, look!" she cried, forgoing formality in this time of possible sudden danger. "What is it? Are the surfacemen attacking? Is it Attuma? What's hap -- "

Crashing downward through the placid waters at tremendous speed, the falling fragment of heaven plowed into the sea bottom with a mighty impact that sent the two women stumbling from their feet as the shock waves overtook them. Tumbling about willy-nilly, the agile Fen righted herself, gasping for breath. With an oath, the Princess swan to the aid of her distressed Lady in Waiting and friend. Reaching out, she grabbed Lori's passing hand and held on tightly. After a moment, the waters quieted themselves, and the two women again regained their equilibrium once more after a brief spell of dizziness. Murmuring her thanks, Lori shook her head as if to clear it.

 "Princess, wha -- " she began.

 Fen pointed. "Whatever it was has fallen to ground off to the East...near the Cave of Shadows." Fen could see the slight shiver that washed over Lori at the mention of the ancient landmark.

 "That accursed place!" she cried.

 Startled, Lori called after the retreating Atlantean royal, as the other woman swam away at great speed. "Princess, wait!" When she was ignored, Lori took off in swift pursuit of her mistress, her strong arms propelling her through the now calm waters swiftly. It seemed to her that Fen slowed her course just a bit in order to allow the slower woman to catch up to her. In silence, Lori followed the adventurous Fen, not without some small trepidation. But she held her tongue, nonetheless. Now did not seem to be the best time to speak up. Lori knew her highborn friend to be strong willed and stubborn. Warning her against her present course would doubtless only serve to strengthen her resolve. With a sigh, the beleaguered handmaiden swam on, following in the Princess' frothy wake like a darting remora in the company of a great white shark.

 Lori's heart beat faster, thudding loudly in her breast. *Something* had torn a great, gouging path along the sea floor, like a huge ugly scar on the pale flesh of one of the Neriads themselves. For what seemed like an interminable distance, the path of the fallen star led on. The water began to take on a strange, somewhat unpleasant metallic taste in Lori's laboring gills. And hot! The closer they approached, the more uncomfortably heated the water grew. Lori was on the verge of pleading for a halt to this folly when Fen brought herself up short, floating still in the water. Lori's gusting sigh of relief was heartfelt, indeed.

 Glowing softly red with heat and then blue with the luminescence of Cherenkov radiation, the great egg-shaped vessel rested peacefully on the ocean floor, now. Lori's eyes widened, and she reached out a futile hand to restrain Fen as the gentle whir of servomotors echoed through the waters. Not quick enough to stop the determined Princess of Atlantis, Lori opened her mouth to call out to the impetuous Fen. But the Princess did not hear her as the great egg cracked and the top half lifted itself off, revealing the contents within, and a faint high pitched wail of distress emerged.

 "Lori!" cried Fen, her voice awestruck and filled with wonder. "Come quickly! It's -- it's a *baby*!"

 * * * * *

 In a flash of red, twin beams of heat sought out the two forward harpoon guns, and melted them where they crouched. Scrambling to safety, the gunners yelled in fear and abandoned their positions, barely avoiding the hissing, sputtering pools of spreading liquid metal where only moments before stood the fearsome tools of their bloody trade.

The figure that landed lightly on the poop-deck was tall, tall and proudly straight backed, with shortish dark hair that clung wetly to his skull. Clad in a skin tight body tunic of deepest blue-black to match the hair, he stood very still. Captain Fugimoto could have sworn he could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of sea water droplets as they cascaded off the muscular body in the yawning, screaming silence. Sea green eyes narrowed at the sight of the astonished Captain and his crew.

 "Supermanta!" The whisper seemed contagious as it spread from man to man like a virus. "Supermanta!"

 The man, if such he was, scowled in disdain. "Know, surfacemen, that I am Namor-El, Prince of Atlantis!" The deep, resonant voice was oddly accented. Those liquid vowels and consonants never sprang from any language he knew, the Captain realized. "I am the Avenging Star Child, and I come to you with a warning!" To his great humiliation, the Captain paled somewhat when "Namor-El" pointed an accusing finger directly at him when he spoke.

 "No more will you be allowed to recklessly exploit the seas!" he declared firmly. "From this day forward, you are forbidden to thoughtlessly slaughter her denizens, to carelessly dump your garbage and your poisons upon her bosom! The seas are the domain of Atlantis! And you will respect that! You may still go your way, traveling from place to place in your pitiable vessels. Normal fishing you may continue, within reason and within your coastal domains! But henceforth, you will consider yourselves  _ **guests**_ when you journey down to the sea in ships! So speaks Namor-El, the Avenging Star Child! Imperious Rex!"

 The Captain, flabbergasted and frankly at a loss to know what to do, stared at the imposing figure of the self proclaimed Atlantean Prince, and so, did not see Kenjiro-Sama draw his pistol. He was later to be almost grateful for that. At that moment, he could not have said whether he would have forbidden what happened next or not. It was almost a relief to have the decision taken from out of his hands by his own inattention. It wasn't until the sound of gunfire shook his senses, the sharp retort of weapon's fire reverberating like thunder in his ears, that he cried out in inarticulate dismay.

 Others were not so reticent, it seemed.

 "Put that away, you fool!" shouted Doctor Namasara, his high, shrill voice cracking like a whip. "You'll get us all killed!" Scattered about the deck, the mesmerized, astonished crew of the Shinobi-Maru gaped in wonder, then gasped in horror to see the bullet strike its target, the Atlantean's broad chest. Strike...

 ...and ricochet harmlessly off the muscled expanse of tanned flesh.

 Rage twisted the merman's smooth features, and Fugimoto's heart sank like a stone in his chest. What punishment could they expect from a being of such immense power? Truly, it was a frightening thought, and the Captain paled to imagine Namor-El's revenge. It was his place to speak, to explain...he knew that. And yet...he could not. His thick tongue clove to the roof his desert dry mouth, the muscles of his throat worked, but no sound emerged. And perhaps that was best. It would not have served for the crew to hear the undignified, squeaky voiced plea that would have been the only sound he was capable of just then. Not served at all. It was then that Reicho Narasama proved himself to be a much braver man than the Captain had ever given him credit for being.

 Bringing himself forward, Doctor Narasama bowed low. "Pluh-please, Yuh-Your Highness," he stammered through chattering teeth. "Forgive this unworthy old fool, but -- " He got no further.

 "You've given me your answer,  _ **surfacemen**_!" roared Namor-El, making a gesture of dismissal with one hand, sharp and abrupt like an edged weapon. "I came to you, a messenger in good faith, and you have attacked my Imperial person! You require a lesson in manners! And a reminder of the power of Atlantis and the one, true Avenging Star Child!"

 With a spreading murmur of fear, the crew fell back when the Prince reached to the belt of metallic gold spanning his slender waist. Captain Fugimoto was eternally grateful that, despite his weak and trembling knees, he held his ground and did not further disgrace himself. Several loud cries of terror assaulted the Captain's reeling senses, along with the sound of running feet, pounding an alarmed retreat. Carefully, Fugimoto did not turn to see which of his crew had panicked and taken themselves below decks.

 It scarcely mattered. From his belt, Namor-El brought forth a long, tapering spiral shaped conch shell, and lifted it to his waiting lips, his sea green eyes gleaming with angry purpose.

 "Let the Horn of Proteus summon forth your punishment!" he declared.

 With a great gust of indrawn breath, Namor-El blew upon the 'Horn of Proteus'. At first, the sound that blasted forth from the strangely shaped, bejeweled shell hardly registered upon human ears. Low and throbbing, it seemed to shake the air; a mournful wail from out of the depths of time. Fugimoto covered his ears against the agony that erupted in his mind at the sound that seemed to reverberate in his bones. Still, the sound shook him even through that fleshly barrier. Like the call of something ancient and primitive and terrible, it echoed in the heart, stealing the breath from the lungs.

 And lo! The waters of Tokyo Bay began to seethe and boil, great bubbles of air rising to the surface from...something...that lurked below. The sea foamed and roiled, as if it were frantically trying to escape, flee from a great terror. Fugimoto's eyes grew wide, the size of dinner plates, as a great bulk tore itself from off the sea bottom of Tokyo Bay and reared its scaly, reptilian head above the waves.

 With an answering roar to match the Horn of Proteus, the huge saurian creature began striding toward the shore, great waves pushed before it like earth before a bulldozer.

 "Godzilla!" cried Doctor Narasama in fascinated horror. "He's awakened Godzilla! Tokyo is  _ **doomed**_!"

 * * * * *

 "Pink skin! Surface scum!"

 "Hold your tongue, Bryrrah!" cried Namor-El, swimming strongly in his elder cousin's direction. His face twisted in wrath, the Prince of Atlantis regarded his chief rival for the heirship to the throne of Kamuu sourly. Hands on his slender hips, he floated, searing Bryrrah with his heated gaze. "You will  _ **not**_  address me again in such a manner!"

 Lazily, as if the gesture were barely worth the slight effort it cost him, the azure skinned Atlantean youth skinned his lips back from his teeth in a mocking sneer. "I will address you as I see fit, halfling!" the older boy snarled. With the fingers of one cerulean blue hand, Bryrrah stroked the thin mustache that lately adorned his otherwise clean shaven features. Namor-El snorted. His elder cousin was very fond of that mustache, he knew. And of the age and maturity that had allowed him to grow and carefully trim it in the accepted Atlantean fashion for a man. He never failed to flaunt it in the presence of the younger, smooth cheeked Namor-El. Namor-El's face clouded with his rage like a storm at sea, and Bryrrah smiled an insulting smile.

 "I am a Prince of the Blood Royale!" Namor-El ground out between tightly clenched teeth. "And your cousin!" Blood ties were important in the ancient society of Atlantis.

 Bryrrah's sneer tinged itself with anger, now. "You are no kin of  _ **mine**_ , surface-whelp!" he shouted.

 Heads turned in their direction, regarding the two quarreling young men askance. Polite Atlantean society did not allow for such public airing of grievances and personal animosity. Namor-El flushed. Their grandsire, the Emperor Tha-Korr, would surely hear of this. Already the gossip must be speeding its way to the Palace. There would be harsh words fallout about this. But Namor-El's pride would not let him back down, now.

 Bryrrah shook his fist at Namor-El. "*I* share the blood of Kings and Princes, since time immemorial!" he challenged. "Who's blood do  _ **you**_  share, halfling? Or do you even *know*?"

 Streaking through the water much faster than the eye could follow, Namor-El lashed out with one rock hard fist, striking Bryrrah solidly in the abdomen. With a great "whoosh" of escaping air bubbles, Bryrrah doubled over, clutching himself in pain. Face writhing in rage, Namor-El drew back his fist to again strike the other youth, virtually trembling with the need to do so, the force of his anger. But the look of horror on the recovering Bryrrah's face was enough to freeze him as surely as the waters of the Cold Sea.

 He had not struck Bryrrah with anything remotely approaching his full, unchecked strength. He must never do that, he knew. He'd always been strong; very strong. But now...since his early teens, his abilities had been ever increasing. In secret, almost as if he were practicing an ancient, forbidden sorcery of some kind, he'd tried to plumb the depths of his new, burgeoning gifts. He's always known that he did not need water to breath. He was comfortable in the air of the surface world. Undoubtedly part of his mixed heritage, he'd thought. But lately, he'd discovered his ability to fly through the air like a sea bird, gliding on the winds. And the strange heat from his eyes! What was he to make of that? And, most bothersome of all, even for an Atlantean, his strength and speed were astounding. Suddenly, the world became increasingly fragile...breakable.

 As if it chanced only yesterday, he could hear his mother, the Princess Fen's soft voice, feel the comfort of her hands, embracing him, lovingly stroking his hair. "You are blessed, my son," the Princess of Atlantis whispered in his distressingly blunt ear (why could his ears not be properly pointed, as other Atlantean ears were?). "You must be very careful. Your great strength and extraordinary abilities can serve Atlantis well, son of my heart. But first of all, and most important of all, you must learn to govern your temper. You will be a King someday, and a King cannot be ruled by his passions."

 Half his life, he'd struggled to master his ire. It was not easy. At times, it was like a living thing within him, coiling and striking of its own accord, it seemed. His heart pounded and his blood boiled. He was quick to anger and offense. He knew this about himself. He was...different. He also knew *this* about himself. With no effort at all, he could recall many private childhood tears, shed in his mother's arms after a particularly vicious taunt from Bryrrah's or another of his playmates. It cut like a knife to know that his mother, his beautiful, brave mother, was the subject of condemnation for his sake. Because of his surface-bred father.

 He could so easily have grown to hate Leonard McKensie...save that his mother still loved him. Their time together, the Princess and her surfaceman lover, had been all too brief, but passionate and intense. The Atlantean Princess yet grieved for the Captain of the Oracle. Namor-El suspected that she always would.

 Slowly, he dropped his fist to the side and released Bryrrah, bowing his head in shame. Once again he had failed. Failed his mother, his grandsire, and, most of all, himself. Wordlessly, he swam off. Bryrrah did not try to stop him, thank Pallais. Confused and heart-sore, he swam like an unswerving arrow whose aim was true. He fancied that he only wanted to be away...away from Bryrrah, away from this sinking feeling of being lost and rootless. But in his heart, he knew his destination. Where else? Where had he ever gone when his spirit was troubled?

 "Mother? Mother, we must speak! I have...questions..."

 When she stepped into the receiving room of her private chambers, the Princess Fen was as pale and drawn as he'd ever seen her. Her eyes glistened with dread, and her hands wrung themselves in an aimless pattern of nervous discord. She could not seem to meet his eyes.

 "Yes, my son," she whispered in acknowledgment. "We...must speak. It's past time for you to know the truth..."

 And just like that, just that simply, he discovered himself and the truth of his origins. At first he refused to believe, clinging stubbornly to the world as he wished it to be. It wasn't until she lead him to the Cave of Shadows, that cursed place shrouded in ancient mystery and dread, that he truly believed.

 "Lori and I hid this here, because no one ever ventures inside. This place is taboo."

 His eyes widened at his first sight of the compact, alien craft. Blackened and twisted by its entry into the Earth's atmosphere and the force of its crash landing on the seabottom, the vehicle was still plainly not of Atlantis. Atlantean technology never created that gleaming, egg shaped matrix carefully cradled in the grip of metals unknown on Earth, he sensed. Namor-El remained silent in the face of his mother's soft voiced explanation. Almost dizzy with the enormity of it all, the pale skinned boy heard only snatches of the narrative.

 "...found you inside...swore Lori to secrecy on her oath as my handmaiden..."

 "...returned from my official period of mourning for my husband Leonard McKensie with you in my arms. Told the world you were my son...and so you  _ **are**_..."

 So! He was not a Prince of the Blood Royal, after all. Bryrrah was right all along. He wasn't even an Atlantean. Shame suffused him.

 In despair, he cried out. "Then...who  _ **am**_  I?" he demanded. " _ **What**_  am I?"

 Like the keenest of knife blades, the stricken look that descended like a shroud upon Fen's lovely, delicate features tore sharply into the flesh of his heart. When she burst into tears, he swam to her side and embraced her. Not once in all her travails (nor  _ **his**_ ) had he ever seen his mother weep. Always she had been strong. Strong enough for the both of them when necessary. More than once he had seen her face her Imperial Father's fury, brave and unflinching. With steady, unblinking eyes, she'd stared at her death at the hands of Attuma, Lord of the Lower Depths...scorned and fought off the advances of her half brother, the self styled sea marauder Ocean Master, with fire in her dark eyes. To see her brought to such a pass...and to know that *he* was the cause...

 "You are my son, Namor-El," she choked through her flowing tears, resting her head upon his broad shoulder, "as surely as if you were born of my body. You are as I have always named you: the son of my heart. My gift from the gods...is that not enough for you? You are the son I  _ **should**_  have had. No mother ever loved a child more. Oh, Father Poseidon pity me, I should have told you the truth long ago. But I had not the courage. C-Can you ever forgive me?"

 He held her tightly. "Yours was the face I saw above my cradle," he whispered soothing words, stroking her silky auburn hair. "Yours was the voice of love that guided and sustained me." He swallowed hard, his throat working soundlessly. "Forgive you? What need have you of forgiveness,  _ **mother**_?"

 Why did I never suspect, he wondered in silence as he dried his mother's tears? My very name is foreign, not of Atlantis. Namor, yes. But Namor- _ **El**_? Whence came the El? Did I never wonder? My mother told me it was an ancient name...that it means "Star-Child"...and so I am. So I am...

 In time, he grew to accept himself as he was. As the sea gods meant him to be. He could lay no claim to Bryrrah's ancient lineage, but his destiny was clear, nonetheless. If he was meant to rule Atlantis, then so be it. But that was for his grandfather, the Emperor Tha-Korr, to decide. Head bowed, he went to his grandsire and told him the truth. He would not live a lie. His pride forbade it. Blood was telling in Atlantis. Descent was all important in the politics of the undersea Kingdom. But the truth will out, and Namor-El did not flinch.

 Tha-Korr's towering rage was already legendary, but the old ruler was strangely calm and quiet when he heard the news, sitting still on his jeweled throne of gold. As if he had long suspected his beloved daughter of the loving deception. They never spoke of it again. The Chief Councilor Vashti stood behind him. Surprisingly, so did the Prime Scientist, the Lord Vulko.

 But, even before the fraudulent Prince found his news so surprisingly well received, Namor-El was content. If he could not be Atlantis' King, her ruler, then he could still be her protector.

 * * * * *

 Like a nightmare from out of the primordial mists of time given all too real flesh, the gigantic saurian monster known as Godzilla opened his cavernous mouth and spat nuclear fire past row after row of needle-like teeth at the city of Tokyo. For a moment, it was as if the sun lowered itself to briefly kiss the earth. The spines along the creature's wet, scaly back shone bright blue with the radiance of it. Dry and brittle, some aged, long abandoned wooden docks at the water's edge sparked red and caught fire. The blazing inferno spread almost immediately to some nearby warehouses, leaping and cavorting like a living thing. Like a destructive child at play.

 "Call S.H.I.E.L.D.!" shouted one terrified crewman.

 "Call Red Ronin!" advised another, more patriotic, seaman.

 "Summon Mothra!" encouraged yet another.

 "Hey!" muttered the lone American among the Shinobi-Maru's crew, "the last time he was here, Mechi-Kong kicked his lizard butt good!"

 When the mountainous dinosaur opened his toothy maw for yet another fiery blast, the Horn of Proteus again rang out it's eerie, lonely call. With a roar of defiance, Godzilla closed his eyes, and sank angrily beneath the waves once more.

 "And there are  _ **worse**_  things than he in the cradle of the sea," Namor-El warned softly, his deep voice calm. "And they are  _ **all**_  mine to command. They...and the armies of mighty Atlantis herself. Heed my words, surfacemen! A new era dawns for us all. It can be an age of prosperity and plenty for both our peoples...or it can be an era of harsh reprisal and destruction. The decision is yours! Let we of Atlantis teach you of our home, the sea. Together we may both benefit. The sea is vast and rich, her resources untapped. But not even the oceans are inexhaustible. Their wealth must be carefully used, husbanded, her waters and the creatures that dwell within them, respected. Imperious Rex!"

 Hiro Fugimoto blinked rapidly. The Fugimoto clan were scions of the sea. For generations, they had served Nippon aboard the decks of her Naval vessels; labored in her Merchant Marine or her fishing fleets. In a flash, he remembered his elder brother Matsuo, brave but gentle Matsuo, lost these ten years when his submarine, the Akagi, sank at sea with all hands aboard.

 It occured to him, then, how easily Matsuo and his comrades might have been rescued with the help of water breathing Atlanteans...

 And just last week...that Russian submarine...lost with no survivors...one hundred and thirty-seven men...his brothers in the waters of the sea...might they have been saved, as well?

 And so many other possibilities! Men living as one with the oceans, enjoying the bounty of the sea, but carefully preserving it at the same time...the rewards would be great.

 Hiro bowed deeply. "You speak wisely, O Prince of the sea!" he said, and saw Doctor Namasara smile in answer. "We will consider your words, Namor-El," he promised. "We, ourselves, are not influential men, Highness; we are but humble seamen. But, rest assured, we will pass your words of wisdom on to men who *do* wield influence, great influence."

 Supermanta nodded, crossing his arms over his broad chest and frowning. "See that you do," he cautioned. "And do not neglect my warning in the telling of your tale. I say again: peace and prosperity...or war and devastation. The choice is yours, surfaceman. Choose wisely."

With that, the Prince of Atlantis leapt high in the air. In an arc as curved and graceful of as the flight of a bird, he soared, diving headlong into the warm waters of Tokyo Bay. The dive was a thing born of breathtaking beauty and skill; so perfect in its execution that the trim figure of Namor-El left hardly a splash in his wake as he plunged into the sea. Like a lover, the waters of the deep seemed to open her arms to receive her sovereign.

"Ahoy, the ship!"


	4. Chapter 4

From the approaching Harbor Patrol motor launch, a small swarm of people, it seemed to Captain Fugimoto, clambered aboard his vessel. Soon, he spied Doctor Namasara in deep conference with several of his scientific colleagues, dark heads clustered together, gesticulating wildly. Almost in a panic at the unexpected attention, the shy Kenjiro clung to his Captain's side; safety in numbers...Hiro found himself the focus of a distressing number of pointed questions from the authorities, all demanding immediate answers.

 "Coming through! Coming through! Make a hole! Move it or lose it, people!"

 Much taken aback by the rudeness of it all, Captain Fugimoto watched the lovely dark haired gaijin woman elbow her way to the forefront of the considerable crowd surrounding him. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her rumpled skirt, then thrust the microphone of a small tape recorder under his nose. A Sony, he noted with approval.

 "Lois Dean, Metropolis Star," she identified herself briskly. "What the hell happened out there, Captain Fugimoto? Can we get a statement?"

 Fugimoto blinked, then bowed respectfully. "Ah, Miss Dean! Permit me to inquire what it is that brings an award winning investigative reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper like the Daily Star to Japan?"

 A charming smile was the seaman's answer. "Why, Captain, Tokyo is hardly the ends of the earth. And Godzilla is always news. That  _ **was**_  Godzilla, am I right?"

 To the east, firefighters valiantly fought the irradiated blaze left in the wake of the irascible monster. Fugimoto inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "And you just happened to be on the scene..." he murmured.

 "I'm lucky that way," Lois Dean, covert S.H.I.E.L.D. agent agreed, turning up the candlepower of her smile. Investigative reporter made a dandy cover in her line of work. And right now, that work included discovering the source of all these recent strange maritime sightings and "accidents". Japan, if the truth were known, was far from the only nation whose ships had suffered recent depredations from this mysterious force. Norwegian mienke whale hunting had ground to a virtual halt in the last six months or so. The seas were becoming a downright dangerous place to misbehave. And it was her job to discover why.

 With a deep sigh, Hiro Fugimoto marshaled his chaotic thoughts and  _ **tried**_  to explain.

The End!


End file.
